


Known

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-season one finale happy ending</p>
            </blockquote>





	Known

Afterwards, with Steve home, scrubbed clean, looking tired in a way Danny doesn't know what to do with, looking happy in a way that makes Danny's heart hurt, they eat and drink, take over the lanai like Steve never left, like this is any Friday night, like they didn't lose the summer. The four of them laugh, buoyant with relief and gratitude as they toast one another, four in the sunlight, four telling stories, four finding home; family; team. It's tempting to linger, to chase the sun below the horizon with questions, with answers, with confessions softened by companionship and a welcome breeze, but they all know Steve's strung tight, needs the cover of darkness, needs the sand and the stars to find his way back, so they leave, gently teasing, one by one.

Danny's last – his feet drag because he knows what's best but he knows he wants the couch at his back, the buzz of the television, Steve bitching about condensation on the coffee table, _normalcy_ , all of it, right now. Which is why he turns, twists on his heel as Kono insults him for the seventeenth – seventieth – time that night, laughter sweet and almost enough, but the quip he has ready dies, just dies.

Steve's looking at him - _looking_ , and there's need on his face, stronger than the thankfulness that's been dogging their heels all day, hungrier than the loop of his arms and the press of a hand that had been hello. Danny feels his mouth open, feels all his words desert him, because he didn't know – he _didn't know_ , not until now, until this exact moment, that they needed each other like this, that they cared like this, that his heart had been beating against a bruise made by losing this, even for just a few weeks.

"Yes," he says, and Steve closes his eyes, his shoulders sagging, and Danny barely has chance to process what it means that he's so clearly worked himself into Steve's skin and bone before Steve's crowding him, kicking the door closed, pressing him back against rough, aging wood and kissing him desperately. Oh fuck, they are stupid, were stupid, past tense, before, and –

"I didn't –" Steve says; he's restless, lips grazing Danny's temple, his jaw, " – didn't know, not until . . . fuck, Danny, I don't know what I'm . . ."

And Danny swallows, hands smoothing over the wrinkled t-shirt pulled tight across Steve's back, says, "I'm right there with you," and he laughs, drunk from the chase of Steve's breath, the heat of his skin. "Clueless, party of - I ask you, what are we, just, upstairs, babe. C'mon, upstairs."

It's a pleasure Danny hadn't considered to peel Steve out of his clothes, to feel Steve's callused fingertips against his hip, the small of his back, the back of his calf, his heel. They slow just enough to appreciate what they have, to spread their fingers wide, to drag their hands down each other's arms as if they can catch what they'd missed, as if loneliness is air against their skin to cup and release. But there isn't time to linger yet, no want on Danny's part to wait, and Steve hooks a foot behind Danny's calf, twists his fingers in Danny's hair, and these aren't even kisses, not anymore – this is shared breath and sweet, low gasps, the slide and twist of sweat-slick bodies, and the stuttering helplessness Danny feels when he watches Steve come has his heart beating wild, chasing out fear. When he comes himself it's with his face against Steve's shoulder, feeling Steve shiver as if he's coming again, and he moans against Steve's skin, bucks and jerks, and he's clumsy and stupid with it, but it feels so good.

This is best, Danny thinks, and his thoughts are sluggish – this is best; not sand; not stars; not ocean. This warm, hazy heat, this tangle of their bodies, this luxury of hearing Steve's heart slowly calm; this shattering touch – this, this is best, this is better than the couch, than the game, than the beer; this is new and it's old and it's so goddamn obvious; it's where they've been headed for weeks, for months.

"Okay?" Danny asks, and he isn't sure who the question is for.

"Yeah," Steve murmurs, and he holds him tight, holds him together, keeps holding on.


End file.
